Acropolis on Beacon

The Boston Atheneum, a century-and-a-half old library that now fronts on Beacon Street, has in the course of its long struggle with encroaching commercialism, successfully fused a workmanlike puritanism with a vivid sense of artistic and gracious living. Almost completely ignoring the upstart sciences, the Atheneum has gathered together a 380,000 book collection of histories, biographies, and probably the most complete collection of eighteenth century sermons and Confederate literature to be found anywhere.

This mass of esoterica, however, (along with a good collection of who dunnits) is not kept stored away, unread and out of use. The intellectual vigour of the Atheneum is testified to by its open shelf system, and the constant use of the alcoves along the walls, where the books are read on huge old-fashioned wooden reading frames, under unshaded bulbs.

As it ignores science, so the Atheneum pays little heed to current, utilitarian fashions. Throughout a century in its present location the library has steadily become a stronger advocate of "gracious living." Tea is now served every day at four. The walls are lined with prints and busts of men from Edmund Burke to Patrick Henry; old globes and Italian Renaissance tables fill in the niches. The Trustee's room on the fourth floor is a remarkably beautiful oval room whose bookshelves contain Washington's Mt. Vernon collection, and whose cabinets house the effluvia of a conscious literary tradition, a letter from Washington, a bronze cast of Whitman's hand, and a book entitled, Life of a Highwayman, bound in his own skin. The effect of this room, with its slow ticking Grandfather's clock and polished center table, mirrors the feeling of the whole Atheneum--a timeless, stately place in which to work.

The Atheneum, started as a private library and art gallery, first opened its doors in Scollay Square in 1807. Sensitive to the rapidly changing character of Scollay, the library stayed only two years, moving to Pearl St. in 1809. After a short sojourn on Pearl St. the Atheneum was driven by the growing clatter of commercial Boston to its present site on Beacon St.

The Atheneum is now run by one thousand and forty-nine shareholders who buy their shares on the stock market. Ranging between one hundred and seventy-five and nine hundred dollars, the price of shares goes up and down with the general trend of the market. Despite the rather forbidding notice on the door restricting the use of the library to shareholders, Walter Muir Whitehill, President of the Atheneum's Trustees and Senior Tutor of Lowell House, explains that the "barriers are raised only high enough to keep out the nuisances."

Perhaps the smallest nuisance to the library is its one non-reading permanent inhabitant--the illegitimate son of the Duke of Monmouth, who is buried directly under the building. When the library was first planned the trustees found that one corner of the contemplated land would encroach on the old Grancry graveyard. Graveyard officials gave permission to dig up the graves until they discovered what illustrious guest they were planning to re-air. This changed everything and the architect had to revise his plans and build a special vault for the Duke's boy to leave him undisturbed.

Presently, however, Atheneum officials have nothing but good words for the cemetery behind them. The expanse of headstone dotted lawn that houses the "tempestuous spirits" of the revolution has assured the library a refuge from the newer turmoil of Tremont St. Outside these spirits lie quietly; inside, aired on oaken frames, and in statue filled halls, they move again.